


Into a scream

by Rattle



Series: Will Power [4]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Conspiracy Theory, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Lewis is an evil tyrant I will die on this hill, Social Anxiety, Wedding, headcanons, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rattle/pseuds/Rattle
Summary: Organizing a wedding is hard. It requires him to use his mouth for something he prefers not to use it for. Talking.
Relationships: Sebastian/Female Player (Stardew Valley)
Series: Will Power [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158782
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Into a scream

Three days, he’d said. 

He does not regret it, and never would have. It’s the right thing to do. Weddings must be dealt with and left behind fast. Efficiently. Weddings aren’t supposed to be about lavish receptions or buttering people up with food and entertainment, or showing off. Not for the two of them, at least. Weddings aren’t even supposed to be about vows and promises. Sebastian makes promises to her every night, ones he intends to keep, and he does not need to use words. 

In the end, weddings, unfortunately, are about legal status. And taxation. 

Problem is, "fast and efficient" is hard when you hate talking to people. 

_Put your money where your mouth is, Sebastian._

She says it’s alright to dislike someone. She does dislike some people, too. But in her case, there’s only three. And she has no trouble conversing with either of them. With banalities and platitudes, but still. Her smile is fake when she does, and Sebastian notices, but they don’t. 

He dislikes most people, though. He would certainly prefer not to talk to them. At all. Even when his friends speak, he prefers to just listen. 

But this one man. His smile is the fakest of them all, she’d never pull off one as fake as his, although each of their strained conversations seems like a competition. Sebastian would hate for him to be the one. It’s irrational to consider this important, to care, because it’s just a bunch of words, and then the two of them are free to go home and turn off the doorbell, and, maybe, make an attempt at breaking the bed in a _legal_ way. 

It’s irrational, but Sebastian would still hate for this man to do it. But he has no other choice. 

It’s been twenty years since the last election. 

To calm down, he smokes right outside the Mayor’s house. Noticing how it’s much more polished, much bigger than all the others around. How the flowerbeds are pretty and useless. Daffodils. She says daffodils are pretty poison. If you put one into a vase with other flowers, the latter all wilt and die, and the daffodil thrives. 

There’s movement inside, Sebastian can see a shadow behind the curtains. The mayor is awake. 

Sebastian crushes the cigarette butt underfoot, pushes it towards the nearest flowerbed and leaves. 

“Says here,” Abby announces after a few minutes of thorough browsing, “that you can become ordained as a minister of Yoba just like this.” She stops pointing at the screen and snaps her fingers. “Over the net. You need to fill out an application form, send a photocopy of your ID, they send back a certificate by mail, and you can perform all sorts of ceremonies, and they’ll be official and legal. Requirements are: no criminal record, citizenship of Ferngill Republic. That’s it.”

Sebastian moves closer to the screen and reads to make sure. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Abby, it’s just... It’s a habit. 

“That’s awesome,” says Sam half-distractedly, still busy replacing a string. “Come on, I’ll get ordained, I’ll do it. Do I get to wear something cool?”

Sebastian shakes his head. He just read the last paragraph. “Takes a month,” he whispers. Technically, it’s “one to three months, plus certificate delivery time”, but Sebastian wishes to assume these bureaucrats are as impatient as he is. Of course they’re not. 

Either way, that’s a no go. 

She has no direct dealings with the mayor, Sebastian knows this all too well by now. She opted out. Sometimes, when it’s artisanal goods and preserves, people buy from her directly. Sometimes, she loads up a cart and sells her stuff to Pierre in bulk, and Pierre packages it, and sells it to everyone else at retail. Other times, a van with a flowery decal on its side comes and picks up boxes filled with buckwheat or corn, to take it to the neighbouring town. 

He once asked, why.

“That bastard kept selling my stuff to Joja,” she told him, propping herself up on one elbow to trace lines across his chest with her fingertip. “I have no proof, though, the receipts didn’t say Joja. They said, “Mor Is Organic Foods''. That’s bullshit. Joja needs to go.”

“Joja needs to go,” agrees Sebastian. 

There’s hunches, there’s hearsay, and then there’s facts. 

You have to buy gas from Lewis, allegedly because the nearest gas station is miles away, and Lewis owns a very big truck. Each canister is... obscenely expensive. And people don’t think much of it, because barely anyone else owns cars. And because they probably don’t check the actual prices. Sebastian did, after another hunch, over the net. He even told mum. Mum said, “Huh.” Lewis overcharges so much, so shamelessly, that it’s, frankly, a bit odd how he manages to sleep at night. But he most likely still does, and well, because, she says, Lewis is building a statue of himself in secret. That’s not healthy behaviour. But it explains some stuff. 

Lewis blamed it on “natural causes” when Linus’ tent burned down. But Sebastian’s nose is keen, and his basement window was downwind, and natural causes do not use artificial flammable liquids, no matter the retail price. 

She says Lewis insisted there was no money for anything. No money for a park for people to hang out and for Sam to skate in. No money to get the bus running again. So she provided funds for both. And Lewis did not even thank her properly. Instead, he hired an alcoholic as a bus driver. He announced there was no money to send said alcoholic into rehab, either. 

Sebastian doesn’t want her to use the bus. 

She says Lewis strings Marnie along, while insisting on hiding their relationship from everyone. Maybe he doesn’t even see it as a relationship, maybe he simply uses Marnie for sex. Sebastian has nothing against Marnie. She’s kind, sweet, and smells cozy. She doesn’t talk much, and she likes animals more than she likes people. Sebastian can get behind that. They say she lost someone, just as pretty much everyone did around these parts, at some point. Marnie also raises a child that is not hers. And does a much, much better job at it than his stepfather ever did. Surely Marnie deserves someone who would support her, cherish her. Who would marry her. For taxation purposes, too.

She also says Lewis did not want to let her into the dilapidated Community center, even though she volunteered to fix it right away. And when she finally talked him into unlocking the rusty door, he not so subtly implied that, maybe, she should get a loan and hire some help from Joja. “But it didn’t sound sincere. He told me he didn’t want me to hurt myself while hammering away in there. And that plaster is toxic, and he’d hate for me to get sick. And that there are rats who could, and probably would, nibble at me. There were no rats.”

Sebastian jerks up in the middle of the night, sweating, hyperventilating and unable to shake off this one thought that occurred to him between wakefulness and slumber. 

Lewis killed her grandfather. 

But the wedding is about twenty five hours away, and Sebastian is sensing the encroaching panic, crawling in from over the edge of his perception. Yes, he probably has no choice. He does ask the universe for a choice, but why would the universe care.

Except, then, a miracle happens. 

Kent finds him in the entrance hall, as Sebastian is taking off his shoes, about to dart for Sam’s room. 

Kent doesn’t say “How do you do”, or “It’s nice to see you”, he says, “I am ordained.”

Maybe Sam told him. If so, Sebastian is glad they’re talking about normal things again. 

“You are?!”

“Yes.”

“How… why?”

“Because,” Kent replies, studying a wallpaper pattern intently, “our initial chaplain died in a shelling, first week of the campaign. Our second chaplain,” he continues, still without looking at Sebastian, “hung himself twelve days later. So I volunteered.” 

Sebastian swallows loudly. 

“I would like to officiate your wedding,” Kent says after a pause. “If I may.”

“Yes, please.” 

And Kent looks directly at him, and smiles, and Sebastian smiles back. 

Abby is in Sam’s room already, a bouquet of markers and pens in her hand. 

The three of them team up again, this time, to write invitations. Not even on cards, just on paper. Date, time, “no gifts”, “wear whatever you want”, a promise that it’ll be fast. 

Abby lingers over her sixth or seventh one. “Should I still write one for the mayor?”

“Fuck no you shouldn’t!” Sam yells.

Sebastian nods. What Sam said. 

Then they head out, to hand over the invitations personally. It’s easy with friends. He doesn’t need to talk. 

“Sorry it’s such short notice,” Abby says, smiling. “Please come. We gotta run now, bye!”

“No problem,” they reply. 

Evelyn does not let them go, asks them to wait, refuses help, insists on getting her reading glasses, and then, upon reading, shuffles to Sebastian, aiming to pinch his cheeks. 

“Aw, I can’t believe you’re getting married, I remember it so well when you were just a wee little baby, such a sweet cute little thing, congratulations, sweetie, I’m so ha—”

Sam tugs at her sleeve to interrupt, beaming. “Hi, granny, I would like to inform you that I am now officially accepting all the congratulations on his behalf,” he announces. “Three, two, one, go.”

She was exhausted yesterday, so she fell asleep early, and Sebastian is hungry for her. As dawn creeps in, they are both awake, and motionless for a while, staring at the ceiling and holding hands. He gets up to make coffee and they drink it in silence, too, smiling at each other. 

“I’ll see you in two hours, _boyfriend_ ,” she says as he puts on an uncomfortable shirt and ties an uncomfortable tie. 

Sebastian pecks her warm cheek. “Alright then, _girlfriend_.”

His heart is pummeling for some reason. 

The town owns a wooden rostrum, but it’s in Lewis’ basement. The ceremonial pillars are kept there, as well. They don't need those. Caroline drags out the golden altar from her house. She shrugs. “Maybe blasphemy, maybe fine.” Willy helps Leah to haul in two of her wooden sculptures instead of the pillars, Haley adorns them with flowers and Emily, after humming appraisingly, ties some bows on them, too. Leah doesn’t seem to mind. 

Then everyone else starts arriving. Then they’re all there. Except for Lewis. 

And she is there, as well. She’s so beautiful, Sebastian chokes on air. She’s wearing a simple white dress. It’s the same one she wore at the Flower dance, when Sebastian desperately wanted to ask her to dance with him, and didn’t, because he couldn’t say it. Except now, he can. He will. He does. 

And she does, too. 

As Kent talks, Sebastian glances at him briefly. Kent is wearing civilian clothing, for once. Teary eyed, but holding it together. The things he says, Sebastian doesn't mind. 

Maybe weddings aren’t just about tax returns and legal status. Maybe some people find hope in them. Especially after seeing so much death and misery. 

After a while, Sebastian and his wife sit at the kitchen table, stark naked, and fill out two identical applications. They’ll send them in later. After all the bed breaking business, maybe. Or tomorrow. 

They return to bed. 

“You should run for mayor. I’ll be your campaign manager.”

She shifts a little to lean her head on his shoulder. She doesn’t argue or object, but whispers, “Campaign managers need to do public speeches.”

“Sam,” Sebastian corrects himself after a pause and a shared chuckle, “Sam will be your campaign manager.”

“Deal.”

“Deal,” Sebastian says.

Then he stops talking altogether. He prefers to do other things with his mouth. 


End file.
